The Search for Juno

Chapter XI

Hermes and Angie spent the night in an ant-infested hotel room at the edge of Las Vegas. When she woke, shuddering out of a dream where ants crawled through her brain matter, the bed beside hers was empty, only an eerie silence left in Hermes's place.

She sat up, unfurling her silk hair scarf from her head and searching her surroundings. She heard no bubbling coffee, no running water, no footsteps in the hall. She turned her head—the balcony was empty. Wherever Hermes was, he was far from here.

The fog of sleep still uncurling from her mind, she fumbled for her phone, before realizing she didn't have a number to dial. Lately, the two of them had never been far enough away for a number exchange to be necessary. When Hermes wanted, he just poofed into being, like a sudden, inexplicable headache.

Angie had just about given up on tracing the god's whereabouts when a car horn, high and blaring, sliced the air. All the hairs on her arms standing straight up, Angie jumped to her feet and threw the balcony door aside with a loud thwack.

In the parking lot below, Hermes waved at her from the driver's side of an atrociously purple Jaguar. It was one of those sports cars that looked like someone had crushed it beneath their foot: low and slim, the Victoria's Secret models of automobiles. Angie absolutely hated it.

"What is that disgusting, grape-looking thing?" Angie called, squinting in the early morning sun. Despite the hour, the heat was a tangible pressure on Angie's skin, not a lick of moisture in the dusty air. "And why are you driving it?"

"It's a J-Type!" Hermes called to her, as if that made everything perfectly okay. "Hybrid tank, very eco-friendly. I bought it this morning, cash. Although all of that cash will turn back into mulch in a few hours, and I'd rather be very far away by then. So can we go?"

Angie didn't know why she was surprised. She slumped against the railing, and though she fought it, a small smile spread on her face. "You're crazy. You know that?"

Hermes flashed a grin so bright it was nearly blinding. "Isn't that why you hired me?"

"I didn't hire you. You just bothered me incessantly until I said yes."

"Same thing," said Hermes, and struck the horn again—someone in a room above them shoved up their window and started to shout several heavily-explicit insults—gesturing at Angie. "We're burning daylight, baby! We should be burning rubber."

To Angie's surprise, she and Hermes did not actually tear each other apart—or at least they hadn't yet. She watched him carefully until she confirmed he was a safe enough driver, and then she reclined her seat as far as it would go, kicking her feet up on the dash and shutting her eyes. It would be a two-day endeavor, most likely, because as crazy as Hermes may be, Angie knew he wasn't crazy enough to drive nearly a thousand miles non-stop.

Moreover, she was not planning on driving a thousand miles non-stop.

It took them at least an hour and a half to escape the Vegas traffic, and then the roads stretched wider and the crowds thinned, the yellow-orange desert plains and the occasional tumbleweed the only view beyond the window.

When Angie wasn't snoring, they talked. Angie told him about her family, her somewhat overprotective mom who owned a bakery back in Tucson, who baked her a rainbow cake the day Angie came out to them. She told him about her father, the Air Force commander whose dark brow and stern mouth made him look a lot more intimidating than he was in reality. "This is the same man who collects vintage teddy bears," said Angie, ignoring the blatant look of disbelief that crossed Hermes's face as she did. "I'm just saying."